


Fade to Color (Brighten to Black)

by Lady_Akuma_Wolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Humans and Fae, F/F, Self-Harm, Slavery, Werewolves, cage fighting, fae, lesbian main character, vampire, weres, wolf shifter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Akuma_Wolf/pseuds/Lady_Akuma_Wolf
Summary: My name is Torianya, or Anya; I don't have a last name. I am a wolf-shifter, and slave fighter in a modern-day Fae Gladiator-eque underground where my owner makes his money on me and the others in his collection.It's been almost a decade and a half since my mate and I were captured, and I was branded; it's been almost a decade since my mate was murdered to bring me to heel. The only reason I'm still alive is because I'm good at what I'm kept to do, and so far, I haven't been killed in a fight. I'd have killed myself either in or out of the ring a long time ago but I'm bound by blood, not allowed to take my own life by any means. So I'm still alive, even though I'm dead inside; Shifters only ever truly mate once in our entire lives.Did I mention I'm several centuries old?In the middle of a fight that should have killed me, instead of ripping my head off, the vampire hisses in my ear: "You mate is still alive, wolf!"





	Fade to Color (Brighten to Black)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: semi graphic self harm, suicide idealization, slavery

It's nearly 2 am according to the clock on my wall.

I have a fight tomorrow, or maybe two. I’m not sure. One I know is against a male vampire, if I remember correctly. One I think I've faced - and beaten - before. I should be resting, not sitting up with the window open and the rain blowing in, plastering my short, black hair against my skull. The March rain is probably cold, but I can't feel it. It's just wet dripping down my arms.

Just like the blood.

I spend most nights up like this, unable to sleep. Thinking, reminiscing. And most times, bleeding.

My owner doesn't care what I do to myself, as long as I'm able to fight against whomever he's lined up. And as long as I don't kill myself, by my hand or in the ring. I'd love to, now that… she… is gone. But my oath is there on the agreement, in my own blood. I cannot break it.

So here I sit, slicing another line into my arm on top of the first, leaving a trail of icy pain to temporarily distract me from other things. Even in the faint light from the light post down the street I can see my blood staining the platinum and silver blade. Cost me several months' worth of my cut from the fights, but worth it. Nothing else hurts, and most heal almost immediately. But even these metals don't really harm me. I've spoken with others like me that have… tried. Shifters don't really have any metal weaknesses, unlike weres. Which I guess is both a blessing, and a curse.

In my head, I can hear my beautiful Alexis yelling at me for reverting to this form of distraction, her gray eyes snapping in fury, love and fear. "Why? Why are you doing this? Stop it, you promised me!"

I had done my best, after I met her. But after our capture and being forced into an oath, I broke that promise to her, repeatedly. Sometimes she'd find me, bleeding on the floor, or in the corner, or on the roof, or wherever I had tried to hide myself from her. She would yell at me as she wrapped my wounds, and then hold me close as I cried.

The knife slips from my fingers as a tear makes its way down my cheek. I miss her, so very much. "Sorry, love," I whisper. "You're gone, and it is all that I have left."

I had let myself get distracted; I didn't hear the door open, so it was my name and cursing that roused me from my thoughts. "Torianya? Shit!"

Swiftly I grab the knife off the floor and jump off the window seat, reflexes working quicker than my head before I realize I recognize the voice. I drop back onto the cushion, ignoring the human man as he rushes over and snatches the blade away from me.

It's only Kyle.

He's the only human who gets away with doing things like that to me. He wouldn't if I didn't know his actions were because he cared. That emotion still continued to surprise me, at least the ones I can read. He's harder than most Fae to read, I suspect it has something to do with the amulet he wears on a chain under his shirt. I once considered yanking it off of him, but couldn't.

Literally.

Another part of my contract is not harming my bosses. That includes him. But his concern is real and unfeigned. Most in the underground Fae-fighting business don't care about their belongings, as long as they bring them in loads of money. Given, Kyle isn't the owner, just the manager, so doesn't make as much off of my as  _he_  does, but even so. He cares.

Kyle grabs the still-damp towel I used earlier to shower off the back of a near-by chair and wraps it around my arm. Brown brows above green eyes crease in worry. A few strands of brown hair have escaped his ponytail. "I thought you said you'd stopped this, Torianya," he says softly. "You have a fight tomorrow, what happens if you're still hurt from this?"

"I lied. And they'll heal by the fight."

Kyle huffs. "Still! What if he-"

I snatch my arm away from him. Blood smears across my arm from the towel. " _He_  won't find out if you don't say anything to him!" I snarl. He shrinks away from me, and I realize I can see a whole lot better than a moment ago. I take in a deep breath and let it out, and the room fades back to its shadowed self. "Sorry," I mutter, turning away from him.

His expression softens. "It's ok, Torianya. I'm getting kind of used to it, now. At least you didn't completely wolf out on me this time." He got up. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit. Don't argue, please," he added, seeing the expression on my face. "I know shifters heal quickly. But I'm not taking any chances, not with you up against a vampire tomorrow night."

I let it drop. He vanishes into the bathroom. If I didn't know him any better, I'd say he was in love with me. But the scent was wrong, and humans know better than to form romantic attachments to fighters, or Fae in general. If we're branded, then we're scum to be owned, used, and thrown away. If not, it we're outside the control of a brand, which is linked to the contract. Then we're to be feared. Because then the food chain is reversed.

As a wolf shifter not tied to the moon's changes like a were, I have hunted and killed humans in both forms, though weres do as well. Never ate any, though. Don't taste too good to me, though I won't deny the thrill of the hunt can be intoxicating. Throughout the centuries and continents I have lived on, I would sometimes hire out as a mercenary. My last long lasting job was as a scout and assassin in the 1700s to the Americans fighting against the British.

Now I wish I had just killed them all.

While my mind wandered, Kyle came back. In silence his cleans and bandages my arm, pausing to gently touch the scars that cover a great deal of my flesh with a gloved hand. Some are from my past, some are from fighting. Some are from me, and he knows it. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but shakes his head and remains silent. A scent I wasn't expecting – rage – made me glance over at him, my eyes shifting so I could see him better. But his face was blank and placid.

I decide not to bring it up, but also decide not to forget it, either. I'm not sure what made him so angry, but I want to know.

OoOoO

I wake up sometime the following morning to a soft knock on the bedroom door. I decide to ignore it and snuggle into a tighter ball under the covers, closing my eyes against the sunlight spilling through the window. Insistently the annoying knock rattles the door, louder than before. With a snarl and jump to my feet, and halt. I'm standing not on two feet on the floor, but on four feet, on the bed. I snarl in frustration before sneezing as I jump off the bed.

I don't even remember shifting last night before bed. Cool air from the still-open window rushes over my bear skin as I shift back into my humanoid form, and I reach for some clothing.

Behind me I hear the soft click of the latch and the door swinging open. I turn my back to the door, grateful that the bed was tall enough to at least hide my bare rear end. If I hadn't known it was Kyle – the only one who knocks and doesn't barge right in – it would've been much harder for me to turn my back on whomever it was, especially if it had been my owner. The way he looks at me gives me the creeps, and the scent of his lust is sickening. I thank the gods I demanded it be a part of my contract that, besides fighting in the ring, my body is my own and I cannot be forced or ordered into having sex against my will.

I grab a pair of black sweats from the end of the bed and slip them on, so I'm wearing something besides my slave chain and tattoos; the dying Tree of Life on my back with skeletons hanging from the branches, a howling wolf beneath it and a crow among the branches; pagan symbols down one upper arm, a dream catcher and other Native American symbols on the other upper arm, in honor of Alexis and her heritage.

To cover the rest of myself up I tug on a half tank over my head. My midriff is still exposed, but I don't care. I've had more exposed during fights, in front of far more people than just Kyle.

I turn to face Kyle, who's still in the doorway, eyes flashing from my formerly bare back to the floor quickly, but I still noticed; I have very good eyesight, even without my eyes shifting. He's wearing faded jeans and old sneakers today, and the top of his plaid shirt is unbuttoned, showing off what is no doubt a smooth and toned chest.

Sadly for him, not something I was interested in.

"What do you want, Kyle?" I ask.

Surprisingly, he blushes, glancing up at me, eyes pausing briefly on my bare stomach and the visible brand before fixating on my black eyes. I give him props for being able to do so. Most men – and some women – don't do nearly so well. " _He_  wants you to start training as soon as possible. Sorry, Anya."

I frown. As far as I knew my vampire opponent was barely a century old, and one I had faced – and beaten – about six years ago. But what my owner wants, he gets. "I'll be down there in fifteen."

He nodded and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. Soundlessly I go over and lock the door, as I have for the past several months ever since I found my owner's brother watching me shower. Shuddering at the memory I change into a black sports bra and a different pair of sweat pants – clean ones – before heading into the bathroom to freshen up. I don't do much. Run a wet comb through my two inch long black hair, which is in its usual disarray, and glare at my reflection. Black eyes surrounded by dark skin thanks to my insomnia, set above high cheekbones and below arched black brows, and a single black teardrop tattoo below the outer corner of my right eye, in honor of my Alexis. A length of chain hangs around my neck, and is secured at the base of my throat by an equally fine lock. It will only open if my owner dies, and either no arrangements have been made for my relocation and I manage to escape recapture, or I am physically freed by my current owner. Neither of which will ever happen.

I turn away before my thoughts can spiral out of control.

The full-body mirror behind the door, which I catch sight if as I leave, gives me a glimpse of myself as I leave. Roughly five feet six inches, lean and somewhat muscled, I rely more on being quicker and smarter rather than strength like most of my opponents. More tattoos peek up from the waistband; on the left, a thorny vine curls around the brand marking me as an owned Fae. I wish the vine could crush it out of existence, but that is foolish of me. The symbolism was not lost on my owner, who put me through two weeks of back to back fights I had no hope of winning. I still don't really know how I survived them.

That was a couple years after my Alexis was slaughtered.

The tile is cool on my bare feet. I hate shoes, and only wear them when I have to. The clothing I'm wearing for training is comfortable and loose, unlike most of my fighting outfits, which are meant to sexualize me. Whatever. As long as I can move and fight in them, I don't really care anymore.

For a moment, I let my wolf half to peer out, eyes turning icy blue for a moment. Part of me wants to shift into my midnight colored wolf and run away from this world, spend the rest of time in the forests, away from humans, Fae, and everything else.

Another part of me wants to punch the mirror, shattering my reflection. But I'm not allowed to do the former. And the latter… I don't even let myself go there.

I leave my room, heading down to the first floor, to the room where I train. He had it built special for me a month after he bought me. I flick on overhead lights on, which hum to life, illuminating a large sparring cage, hanging bags, weights, treadmills, and more. In the corner a fridge is stocked with bottled water and energy drinks designed special for my species. I typically ignore those, preferring to stay with water. But then again, who knows what's in that.

Beside the fridge my mp3 is fully charged and waiting. I slip it into the sleeve of the arm sheath and put it on, careful not to bump the still-not-quite-healed skin from last night and press play. A guttural male voice, accompanied by rock and old Celtic instruments blares in my ears as I start to run laps around the room, trying to focus on the Gaelic lyrics, and pumping my legs to the beat of the drums.

After I feel sufficiently winded, I switch to boxing in the circle of hanging bags, with no padding, of course. I don't see the point when we're not allowed to use it in the cage. The music is pounding in my head as I attack them, sending them swinging wildly from their chains. I kick, duck, strike and duck again as I try to envision attacks, though nothing can replace an actual sparring partner; of which I haven't had for a long while now.

My own doesn’t really like to have his pets practice together; they might get it into their heads to try and kill him.

That, or they kill each other.

Out of the corner of my vision, I catch sight of one of the camera stationed at various points around my room turn towards me; so he was watching. Unusual. He didn't normally show so much interest when it wasn't a high-profile fight. Looks like Kyle was right, and there was more to this fight than meets the eye.

Just peachy.

OoOoO

"I hear the vampire’s been training hard, ever since he lost to you two years ago." Kyle says from the opposite side of the changing screen. "Apparently, being beaten by a lowly shifter, and on top of that s  _female_  shifter…" he trails off, and I can almost hear his shrug. "He wants revenge."

"Wouldn't be the first or last time I have a match like that," I comment as I pull on a pair of tight-fighting blood red leather pants; a matching square scooped sleeveless vest hangs over the screen, with metal plates placed between the layers of leather to protect my insides. "Either I win, or I lose. It's only a three-round match, unless I manage to lose the first two, I'll win and be just fine. It's not like it's a death match." I hated those; didn't come up that often, and obviously when they do I have won them. So far, at least. And then there were the… fetish ones. Group fights, nude fights, shifter fights… the list goes on and on.

I step out from behind the screen as I slip the vest on, turning around so he can zip it up for me, which he does, carefully and gently as always. Before I can move away to grab my weapons belt, he grabs my arm. "Be extra careful, Torianya," he says softly. We both can hear the loud footfalls of my owner approaching the ready room. "I've heard that his owner bought him wolf shifters to fight against, in preparation of your rematch. They're all dead."

Before I can reply he steps away, putting distance between the two of us as the door opens, and in steps my owner.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? I have plans for where to take this, but don't have any more written currently.


End file.
